


How (not) to cope with Skywalker family drama

by prayforpiett



Series: Ficlets from a galaxy far, far away... [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Awful Corellian whiskey, Crack Treated Seriously, Ficlet Collection, Stress Dreams, knitting AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24320452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prayforpiett/pseuds/prayforpiett
Summary: In which the admiral of the Executor tries to find ways to manage his stress. Like any sensible person, he tries to turn his frustrations into creative endeavors. And he also drinks. A lot.Of course, it all gets worse when he starts to have stress dreams about a certain Luke Skywalker...
Relationships: Firmus Piett & Maximilian Veers
Series: Ficlets from a galaxy far, far away... [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755739
Comments: 8
Kudos: 111





	1. In which Admiral Piett stress-knits

**Author's Note:**

> I'm putting here my small ficlets about everyone's favourite dysfunctional admiral from my Tumblr. I hope you enjoy the products of my sleep-deprived mind.
> 
> (Also, thanks everyone on the Discord for the help and the enthusiasm! <3)

Max raised an eyebrow at his friend as he opened the present just to find a grey sweater. Again.

"Really Firmus?" He asked in a slightly mocking tone but the undercurrents of worry were there.

"You haven't knitted this much since your niece got married to that holodrama actor."

After that family drama, Max had received four sweaters, all in the same shade of standard Imperial grey.

"Please, don't mention that man."

"Why not? I've heard that he looks quite dashing on the poster of his new film. What is it called? My lightsaber is not your toy?"

"Would you be so kind and shut up? I have enough on my mind right now. I don't need to be reminded of how my family name is on the cover of second-rate porn."

"He took up your niece's family name?"

Firmus just stared at him and poured himself another of that hellish Corellian whiskey that one of the officers gave Max for his birthday. He watched with amazed disgust as his friend swallowed it all in one gulp.

"I don't know how you can drink that."

"In my experience, if one's company is unpleasant enough, then I can drink anything."

"Firmus. I knew that you were stressed, you look like you haven't slept in a year but I haven't thought that you were this stressed" Max pointed at the eight grey sweaters laying on the floor.

"I'm worried about you."

“It’s Skywalker”, Firmus answered after a long pause.

"What?”

“I’m stressed because of Skywalker. Haven’t you heard about the manhunt Lord Vader organized to capture the boy? I’m at that point where I have his file memorized, I can tell you his weight, his waist size and his favourite food from the top of my head. I probably know more things about Skywalker than he knows about himself. If we can’t capture him soon, I think I’ll even start to dream about him.”

“I have heard about it, I don’t think there is anyone in the galaxy who hasn’t heard about it, but I still don’t understand. You are the admiral of the Executor. Why do you need to be this involved?”

Firmus went silent again and started to stare at the bottle again as if he was contemplating whether drinking himself into oblivion was worth the hangover but Max didn’t want to give up so easily. This was an eight sweater case and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

“Why does Vader want him so badly? Even the destruction of the Death Star isn’t worth this much effort. What is Skywalker to him? His long lost son or something?” Max chuckled. 

“Please don’t speculate about this, unless you want to see me dead.”

“What do you mean? Don’t you say that you believe those rumors about him reading minds.”

“You haven’t worked with him.”

The haunted look in his friend’s eyes made him pause for a moment. If Firmus, the always so rational Firmus believed this... Well, he didn’t want to think about what that might mean.

After some contemplating he poured from the awful whiskey for both of them, and raised his glass for a toast. After this discussion, he felt it was better if they both got drunk.

“To staying alive.”

“To staying alive,” Firmus echoed.


	2. In which Piett has a stress dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title says it all.

He realized that he was dreaming because of two things. First, the normally grey blanket on his bed was atrociously, blindingly neon pink with images of playing loth kittens. Second, a very confused Luke Skywalker was staring at him from the other side of the room. 

He looked just he did on his holos, except the dark circles under his eyes were much more prominent and his face was sunken, as if he haven’t been eating properly. Firmus supposed that he must be projecting.

“I was hoping that you’d let me have good sleep, but it seems like I was expecting too much,” he sighed.

Skywalker already occupied all his waking moments, so it was no surprise that he eventually started dreaming with him. Max would be howling with laughter, when he heard the news that’s for sure.

“What do you mean...? Are we dreaming?” Skywalker asked, looking around the room in confusion.

He frowned when he saw the blanket, but luckily, he didn’t comment on Firmus’s new bed decor.

“No. I am dreaming, you are only a figment of my decaffeinated imagination.”

He didn’t know why he even bothered to explain this to a different part of his own mind. Maybe, but just maybe, he was trying to retain the air of normalcy to prevent himself from going mad. That would be an embarrassing end to his carrier, that’s for sure. Thank god he wasn’t prone to hysteria. At least he would be a docile lunatic who doesn’t have to be dragged away screaming.

“Do you want something to drink? Tea, caf or water...? Ah, nevermind.”

He snapped his fingers and a tray appeared with a mug of hot chocolate and a gigantic cup of freshly brewed caf. He handed the mug to Skywalker and took a careful sip from his own drink. It was definitely better than the monstrosity they served in the officer’s lounge. Maybe his imagination was better than he thought.

Skywalker was staring suspiciously at the hot chocolate as if he was expecting something to jump out of the mug. He looked too young to have so much blood on his hands.

“Don’t worry, I couldn’t poison you even if I wanted to,” Firmus said with a dry smile.

“No it’s not that... It’s just... Who are you?”

“I am Firmus Piett, admiral of the Executor,” he answered proudly.

Skywalker's flinch was barely noticable. He covered his weakness admirably enough.

“How did you know that I like hot chocolate? Are you a Force-user?”

“No, I don’t have powers like Lord Vader. I can assure you, I’m perfectly ordinary.”

He couldn’t help but feel a smug satisfaction unbecoming of his station, seeing Skywalker’s dumbfounded expression.

“I think you are aware of the manhunt Lord Vader organised,” he said, finally taking pity on the boy. “It involves collecting information.”

“How much do you know?” 

“Pretty much everything. Your measurements, your past, your hobbies, the name of your closest friends etcetera, etcetera.”

“Why does he even care? It’s not like Fa-”

Skywalker cut himself off angrily, before he could finish the sentence. Firmus frowned. Why would a dream version of the rebel speak about Lord Vader like that? Maybe his mind was closer to the inevitable madness than he thought.

“I don’t know. But I can assure you that we did the most extensive research about you in the history of the Empire.”

Suddenly, a familiar ringing pierced through the walls of the dream.

“Ah, I’m afraid this is my alarm clock. Thank you for the converstation,” Firmus sighed.

“No, thank you, Admiral. You certainly provided some much needed insight.”  
With this alarming sentence, the dream faded, and Firmus found himself lying in his familiar, grey bed. His back ached from sleeping in the wrong position and he thought longingly about his imaginary coffee. He would definitely need to knit after this. Maybe, for a change, he could use another shade of grey.


End file.
